


Antique

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 20:26:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14480553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Lindir looks at a sofa.





	Antique

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It probably isn’t the best time of year to buy heavy things—any furniture they purchase will have to be dragged right through the snow, and Lindir’s bundled up so much that he doubts he could get a proper grip through his mittens anyway. But then, he probably wouldn’t do much of that lifting himself—Elrond’s sons have kindly helped with most of the decorating, even if their increased presence does have other side effects: namely, reminding Lindir of his own charm, confidence, and general strength issues, as well as highlighting the age difference between Lindir and his partner. But the twins are dreadfully helpful when one needs to get a giant wardrobe up two flights of stairs, and Lindir does his best to love Elrond’s family as much as he loves Elrond himself.

While Elladan and Elrohir squabble over the guest bedroom and the living room couch, Lindir and Elrond are at left to do the actual designs alone. Lindir decides that the walls would be much better in a pastel green with complimentary furniture, and Elrond, as he so often does, amicably agrees. Lindir appreciates it immensely. He reminds Elrond, “If you have any preferences...”

“You know we have quite similar tastes,” Elrond parries, “and I quite like the direction you’re going in.”

So Lindir nods and glows inside, and the next thing he knows, they’re heading for the home improvement store. It would probably be wiser to take the car so that neither of them would have to lug back the paint cans, but the shops aren’t far and it’s good to get the walk—to get _just the two of them_ out together. The day is crisp and bright, the air clear and the village lightly doused in sparkling snow. Though Lindir much prefers the summer months, where there’s at least some chance that he’ll wander into the study to find the buttons of Elrond’s shirt opened, he does like the way the village looks this time of year. And being out amongst the other old fashioned buildings does give him new ideas. He’s in that sort of _designer_ mood where every little thing’s inspiring, and with a partner as open and indulgent as his, he can afford to entertain most of his ideas. They pass a small boutique on the way to the main strip, where several dark-wood antiques have called to Lindir out the dusty windows for weeks. Usually he tells himself not to waste money on things he doesn’t need, especially given that most of his budget is _Elrond’s_ money, but this time, his want must not be subtle enough.

Elrond slows his pace and asks, “Would you like to stop in there?”

Lindir’s never been much good at lying to Elrond. And as they have been purchasing new furniture lately, having given half the house away to Arwen and Aragorn’s new home, it only makes sense to answer: “Yes, actually.”

Strolling up to the door, Elrond opens it for him. A little bell rings at the top, but there’s no one to be seen from the crowded entryway—it’s lined in so many stuffy pieces that Elrond and Lindir have to go single file. Where the hallway turns into what looks like the main bulk of the shop, Elrond pauses, eyes skimming a withered bookshelf lined in an array of small, yellow-paged novels. Elrond bends to examine them, and Lindir dares to go a few steps on ahead.

As he expected, there are several pieces he likes, more than he needs, but what catches his eye the most is a tiny flora sofa up against the wall. Lindir finds himself walking over to it, fingers running curiously over the thick upholstery fabric. It has a sort of old-fashioned, traditional allure that speaks to him. It was clearly made in another time, where even stately homes had smaller pieces, but that’s alright; he always likes to sit as close to Elrond as possible. He thinks the sofa would fit right opposite of Elrond’s desk, and then he could sit on it and read while Elrond worked, occasionally glancing up from his story to enjoy the idyllic view of his reality.

“What do you think?”

The high-pitched voice nearly makes Lindir jump. He jerks straight up, turning aside to see a blonde woman smiling warmly at him. At first, Lindir thinks she must be another customer, given that her tight-fitting crimson dress seems incongruous with the rest of the shop’s style. But then she presses, “It’s a great bargain right now, you know; all the larger pieces in the store are ten percent off for the season-end sale.” She points to a paper sign stapled to a bulletin board behind the desk in the corner. Lindir nods.

He murmurs, “That is tempting.”

“Really?” she chirps, as though she’d quite expected him to disagree. “What a nice fellow you are! I’m sure your grandmother will love it.”

Lindir just sort of stares at her, thoroughly confused, until he takes a second look at the sofa and gets a sinking feeling. Cheeks warming, he softly admits, “No, it... would be for me...”

The woman’s lips part, her eyes going a fraction wider. Clearly, he’s shocked her. But she recovers quickly and coughs, “Oh, well, yes, it’s always nice to see someone with... ah, ‘mature’... taste.” She smiles again, but it’s obviously forced. When the phone behind the counter rings, she looks relieved to hurry off after it.

Lindir’s left alone beside the sofa, which doesn’t look nearly so perfect anymore. As soon as the woman’s behind the counter and turned her back to him, Lindir walks stiffly back to the entranceway.

Elrond’s still standing there, thumbing through the collection. Lindir latches right onto his side without explanation. Lindir doesn’t need to give it. Elrond’s arm is instantly around his shoulders, offering a swell of familiar comfort. Elrond asks, “What is it?”

Lindir just asks, “Can we leave?” Elrond doesn’t answer. He turns them for the door instead, Lindir automatically falling into step. 

Even when they’re outside and the door’s firmly shut behind them, Lindir takes them down the rest of the block. There’s no one around for at least three more, but Lindir still wishes they were back home, safely inside, curled up next to the fire on their boring contemporary couch. 

While Lindir sorts out his awkward thoughts, Elrond patiently awaits an explanation. It takes Lindir a long time to manage a quiet, timid, “Am I too _old_?”

“Too old?” Elrond repeats, quirking both one brow and the corner of his lips. Lindir flushes.

Lindir drops his gaze to his shuffling feet and corrects, “Do I think too old?”

A warm hand cups Lindir’s cheek, no less tender for the faux-leather glove it’s wrapped in. Elrond’s long fingers curl beneath Lindir’s chin, and Elrond gently lifts his face to connect their eyes again. Elrond lightly teases, “You are aware that you’re dating a much older man, aren’t you?”

They’ve had that conversation a thousand times. Elrond’s always felt ageless to him. Lindir counters easily, “But you _think_ younger...”

“I don’t know that I do,” Elrond chuckles, “But if that were true, then it would only make sense of why we work so well together.”

Lindir’s face feels hot again. He wants to bury it in Elrond’s chest. But craving Elrond’s embrace just makes him feel childish, and he wishes he’d never brought up age at all—it always winds up in a headache. 

Maybe Elrond understands, because he changes the subject to: “I saw you heading for a sofa in there, I believe? Would you like to get it?”

Not anymore. Although he would like something like it. Maybe just not quite so... ‘grandmother.’ He quantifies, “Not that one.”

“We’ll find another one, then,” Elrond promises. He presses a kiss against Lindir’s forehead, sealing the vow, and Lindir can’t fight the smile that comes onto him.

Elrond slips their hands back together. Maintaining that connection, they continue on their way.


End file.
